When we were kids, growing up in California, we would sing on the school bus. On rainy days, we’d sing “Rain, Rain, Go Away. Come Again Another Day!” I don’t know why. I’m sure we just didn’t appreciate the rain. Maybe it’s that rain so often has a negative image, like the expression, “Rain on my/your/our/the Parade.” Folks up in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, must be getting pretty sick of rain and its associated flooding. But down here in Georgia, the soft rain this morning is appreciated. Not only does it cool things down somewhat, though making it more humid, it waters the ground that has gone without for a week now.
Sure, a perfect rain would begin in the late evening and continue softly dropping an inch or so until the early morning hours. It wouldn’t interfere with the daily lives of millions of folks all scrambling to make it to work on time. A fresh rain like today will leave the roads slick for a while today. Yet, while I empathize with commuters–been there, done that–I still love to watch the rain gently fall on the garden. I don’t mind walking in the rain, either. Except perhaps those sudden downpours that drench despite rain jacket and hood. No, I do not carry or use an umbrella; that’s just too English. I’m of Good Welsh stock on my Mother’s side, which means I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and don’t have blue blood; I have, indeed, music in my soul and poetry flowing through my veins.
Rain is water. And I love water. While it isn’t the source of life, as many scientist like to say, it is certainly essential. Humans can go many weeks without eating food, and some, like me trying to lose twenty pounds, can go many more weeks. But we need water to exist. Like in three days we’ll perish if we don’t drink of water. We dry up.
We dry up physically without enough water. We dehydrate. If you pinch your flesh between two fingers, softly gathering the skin together, then release, it quickly moves back into shape. When you are dehydrated, your skin just stays puckered for a while. Dehydration dries us up, and makes us weak. There’s a spiritual correlation to dehydration. It’s worst than physically drying up. Like a the skin test, spiritual dehydration makes us pucker up, too. Our demeanor is sour, agitated. We wither, like a plant in the sun, drooping over spiritually. There’s a saying, “One Week without Prayer makes One Weak.” Prayer, the Word of G-d, praise and worship, thanksgiving, it’s all fellowship with G-d. Without that, we dry up.
That’s pretty much what kept happening in Israel, during the Temple Days. The people would forget about G-d and things would begin to go terrible wrong. They’d listen, at last, to a new Judge or a new king, and return to the LORD.
We don’t live in a theocracy, though. Once upon a time in America, we were a Christian nation and while we’ve had many and varied denominations, we worshiped the same G-d, the G-d of Israel. Those days are gone now. Some say that’s a good thing. But even then there was no one leader that we all looked toward that would lead us back to G-d if we strayed too far away. The secular government, while made up of Christians, mostly, had separated the political from the religious. We have a history of this separation of Church and State. And it’s really worked out pretty well. We don’t yet have a political ruler that also tells us how and whom to worship. That’s good thing. But it also leaves us with out a shepherd to call our attention, our focus back upon our Lord.
How do we get back into right communion with G-d after staying away? What will prompt us, remind us? For jsut like dehydration can come upon us easily on a hot day, we can move away from our Lord easily to, without even really noticing it until we’ve drifted a ways.
When we pour a glass of water, crisp, clear water, we should think of G-d. We ought think perhaps of the well outside Shecham where our Lord Y’shuaJesus asked a woman for cup of water to drink. When it’s raining, it can remind us of the Living Water that the Lord said he’d give to all who ask of Him. A pond or pool or lake can remind us of John who baptized in the Jordan River, or of the pool by which a crippled man awaited healing. The sea reminds us that the Earth is covered mostly in water. We must be moved by the ocean’s power, majesty, and vastness. Our minds must turn to our Creator, reminded that He, too, is all powerful, majestic, and everywhere and close at the same time.
Water. Baptized in water. Baptized in Spirit.
Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .